Death Comes to the Nursery Read online

  “I think you are dealing with him in exactly the right way,” Lucy hastened to reassure him. “You are attempting to be fair but not allowing your natural tendency to defend someone you have personal knowledge of to override your judgment.”

  “I can try and find out if anyone in the village saw Polly walking with another man that day,” Robert suggested. “That would help to corroborate James’s story. But until then, I think he’d do better to stay in his room.”

  “I agree.” Lucy nodded. Have you heard anything from Mr. Jarvis at the Queen’s Head?”

  “Not yet.” Robert shoved a hand through his hair. “Did you get Polly’s mother’s address from Agnes?”

  “Yes. I will write to her immediately and get Michael to take the letter directly down to the mail coach so that it will be received as quickly as possible.”

  “Good,” Robert said and gestured at the items Lucy had placed on his desk. “What have we here?”

  Lucy handed him the playbills and opened the jewelry box to reveal the card “I think that Polly’s name might be Flora Rosa. Somebody wealthy must have given her these jewels.”

  “Then why was she working here as a nursery maid for a pittance?” Robert asked.

  “She did say that she was glad to get out of London,” Lucy said slowly. “Maybe she was running away from something or somebody?”

  “And decided to bring her problems into my household?” Robert demanded.

  “It didn’t make any difference, though, did it?” Lucy reminded him. “She still died.”

  “And embroiled us in yet another case of murder,” Robert grumbled.

  “The card is addressed to Flora Rosa.” Lucy attempted to regain her husband’s attention and draw him away from his personal grievances. “The signature is unreadable.”

  Robert picked up the card, put on his spectacles, and squinted at the handwriting. “It’s a single word. That’s all I can make out. Flora Rosa sounds like the name an actress might use.”

  “I didn’t think of that.” Lucy pointed to the playbills. “Is she listed in them?

  Robert started reading, discarding the first two bills from the Corinthian and pausing as he ran his gaze over the long list of players at the Prince of Wales.

  “Ah. Here she is. It doesn’t say what part she plays, but there is definitely a Flora Rosa listed.”

  “I suppose our Polly could’ve worked for this actress and stolen the jewelry,” Lucy pointed out.

  “But our Polly was certainly beautiful enough to have enjoyed some success on the stage and to have gained herself an admirer.”

  “As I have no knowledge of such things, I will assume that you are correct.” Lucy gave him a rather sharp gaze.

  Robert shrugged. “As a young man, I did loiter in the green rooms of some theaters.”

  “I am aware of that—seeing as that’s how you met Mrs. Jarvis from the Queen’s Head.”

  Lucy would rather not discuss his youthful appreciation of the ex-actress, who had remembered him rather too well for Lucy’s liking when she’d given up the stage and married the landlord of the local inn.

  “I wonder if Mrs. Jarvis might still have contacts with the theater in London?” Robert said. “She might even have heard of Flora Rosa.”

  “I doubt it, but I am quite happy to ask her,” Lucy offered. “But if we really want to find out what happened to send Flora Rosa running to Kurland St. Mary, we will have to go to London and investigate the matter for ourselves.”

  Robert put the jewelry and the playbills in his desk and locked the drawer.

  “Before we get ahead of ourselves, my dear, perhaps we should discuss what else we can discover here. Bert Speers is still missing, and James is not telling me the whole truth. The only suitor I can completely clear of murdering Polly is Dermot Fletcher, who spent the last two days at my side catching up on his work.”

  “We don’t know exactly when Flora Rosa was murdered. Dermot could’ve trapped her somewhere and killed her later.” Lucy demurred.

  “We did go out and speak to the Durleys, so perhaps you have a point.” Robert groaned. “Maybe Dermot saw her wandering around their fields with another man and was overcome with rage.”

  “I agree that it sounds unlikely.” Lucy paused. “I forgot something.”

  “What?”

  “To examine the clothes Flora was wearing when she died.”

  “I told Foley to leave the box in her bedchamber. Wasn’t it there?”

  Lucy rose to her feet. “I think I moved it to strip the bedclothes. I’ll go and find it right now. I am so forgetful!”

  Robert had no desire to poke through his murdered nursemaid’s garments, but he waited patiently for Lucy to return with the box.

  When she did, she extracted Flora’s gown and wrinkled her nose at the creased fabric before setting it aside.

  “Is there anything in a pocket?” Robert asked.

  Lucy gave him a patient look. “Her dress doesn’t have pockets.” She delved in the box and brought out a long strip of narrow fabric with two bags attached to it. “Here they are.”

  She frowned as she explored the interior of one of the bags. “I haven’t found her coin purse yet, or her wages, and they don’t appear to be here, either. Perhaps it was just a robbery.”

  “I doubt that, but please carry on,” Robert said.

  She undid the string on the other bag, which produced a crackling sound, and withdrew a letter that she held up to Robert.

  “Mrs. Jarvis said she’d received a letter. That must be it.” He gestured at Lucy to read it.

  Lucy unfolded the single sheet and held it up to the light.

  “My dear friend, all is not well here. Your flight has been discovered, and your destination is known. Be very careful.”

  “Well, that isn’t very helpful,” Robert said.

  “It does indicate that Flora was in danger,” Lucy pointed out. “And that Polly Carter was trying to protect her.”

  “We don’t know if that letter was from Polly,” Robert countered.

  “Who else would be writing to her?”

  “Her protector?”

  “Surely, if she had a powerful or wealthy man ‘protecting’ her, she wouldn’t have felt the need to run away in the first place.” Lucy held up a finger. “Unless that was who she was running away from.”

  Robert took the letter and read it for himself. “The handwriting is quite crude and probably not that of a gentleman, which might indicate that you are correct about the letter being from Polly.”

  “Thank you.” Lucy looked at him expectantly. “Now when do we depart to London to find the real Polly Carter and ask her what on earth is going on?”

  Chapter 7

  Lucy made her way to the kitchen, the box containing Flora’s possessions in her hands. She would ask the housekeeper to launder the clothing and return everything to Flora’s bedchamber.

  Robert had avoided answering her question about the necessity of a trip to London by claiming he had to meet with Mr. Fletcher and leaving his study before she could stop him. As it was unlike him not to be honest with her, she had a suspicion that his reluctance to engage on the matter was because he didn’t want her to come with him.

  “Of course, he doesn’t want you to come,” Lucy murmured to herself. “Why would you even doubt that?”

  “Excuse me, my lady?”

  Lucy looked up to discover Foley holding the door into the kitchen open for her.

  “Good morning, Foley.” Lucy stepped past him. “Is Mrs. Bloomfield here?”

  “I believe she’s out at the Home Farm this morning, my lady,” Foley said. “I told her to take one of the footmen with her. We don’t want what happened to young Polly happening again, now, do we?”

  Lucy nodded and took the box through to the scullery. “Will you ask her to have these clothes laundered and returned to Polly’s room?”

  “I will, my lady.” Foley followed her back into the kitchen. “I was just about to
take this message to Sir Robert.” He held out a folded piece of paper. “It came from the Queen’s Head.”

  “Thank you.” Lucy scanned the letter. “Will you bring the gig around to the front of the house and then take this to Sir Robert?”

  By the time her husband emerged from the house, she was already sitting in the gig awaiting him. His steps slowed as he approached, and he raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re coming with me?”

  “Indeed.” She offered him a challenging smile. “Have you not yet learned that I am not very biddable?”

  “I knew that before I married you.” He stepped up into the gig and took the reins from her. “I did have hopes that vowing to obey me might curb your impulses, but it seems that I was mistaken.”

  She bristled at his words—and then realized he was smiling, and contented herself with pinching his arm instead.

  “You will not stop me coming to London with you, either.”

  “I’ll certainly try.” Robert set off. “But perhaps we should call a truce and deal with Mr. Jarvis at the Queen’s Head before we commence hostilities?”

  The journey down to the inn didn’t take long, and they were soon pulling up in the busy stable yard. Robert got out and handed Lucy down, and one of the ostlers moved the gig out of the way.

  Mr. Jarvis met them in the hall, his expression grim.

  “He arrived back here this morning on the mail coach. He wasn’t very cooperative, so I put him in the cellar and locked the door.”

  “Thank you.” Robert touched Lucy’s shoulder. “Perhaps you could ask Mrs. Jarvis if you might examine Bert’s possessions while I go with Mr. Jarvis and deal with this matter?”

  For once, Lucy decided to humor him. She had no desire to be stuck in the cellar with an angry or violent man.

  “As you wish.” She smiled sweetly at Robert.

  “See how easy it is to obey one’s husband?” he murmured into her ear before turning back to Mr. Jarvis and following him into the public bar of the tavern.

  Lucy sniffed and went to find Mrs. Jarvis, who was more than willing to allow her access to Bert’s shared room above the stables.

  * * *

  “I’ll come in with you, sir, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Jarvis said.

  “I don’t mind at all,” Robert replied as Mr. Jarvis picked up a large cudgel propped against the outside of the locked and barred door.

  Like a lot of the older buildings in Kurland St. Mary, belowground the inn had remnants of the monastery and church that had once stood in its location. The elegant, curved ceilings of the cellar, with their stone pillars, looked somewhat out of place among the barrels and dusty bottles.

  The second they entered the room, Bert Speers sprang up from his cloak-covered bed and came toward them. His hair and clothing were disordered, and his chin was black with stubble.

  “What the bloody hell is going on? Why am I being held here and treated like a criminal?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me that,” Robert said. “Where have you been for the last three days?”

  “I don’t have to answer to you,” Bert sneered.

  Robert turned to Mr. Jarvis. “As his employer, I’m fairly certain you have the right to ask the same question.”

  “Aye, you can’t just disappear for days without telling anyone where you’ve gone, Bert.”

  Bert rolled his eyes, which did nothing to endear him to Robert. “I had to go home. My mother needed me.”

  “You didn’t think to ask my permission?” Mr. Jarvis asked. “Why not?”

  “Because I had to go immediately! I told Jeremiah.”

  “Strange that Jeremiah didn’t mention it to anyone, then.”

  “That’s not my fault, Mr. Jarvis, now, is it?”

  “Where exactly did you go?” Robert inquired.

  “Back to London,” Bert said. “Where else? I bought a ticket and got on the mail coach. If you don’t believe me, ask Henry Haines next time he’s here.”

  “I will ask him,” Mr. Jarvis said. “Don’t you worry about that.”

  Robert leaned back against one of the upright casks of ale and regarded Bert carefully. “Perhaps you might clarify something else for us. When did you last see Polly Carter?”

  Bert frowned. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

  “Please answer the question,” Robert ordered, his tone hardening.

  “Why? Has she been telling tales about me again?”

  “She hasn’t said a word.” Robert kept his gaze on Bert’s face. “When did you last speak to her?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Don’t you be disrespectful to Sir Robert.” Mr. Jarvis brought the cudgel up toward Bert’s face in a menacing manner. “You answer his question or I’ll wallop you.”

  “I spoke to her the day before I left,” Bert said grudgingly. “I told her to stop playing silly games and getting me into trouble, or I’d make her pay for it.”

  “Did you now?” Robert let the silence fall around them.

  “Did I what?” Bert frowned.

  “Make her pay?” Robert continued to stare until Bert started to shift his feet.

  “I might have tried to shake some sense into her, but if she’s saying anything different, then she’s lying.”

  “She’s dead,” Robert said flatly. “Perhaps your attempt to ‘shake some sense into her’ turned violent and you inadvertently murdered her.”

  A red flush rose from Bert’s throat to suffuse his face. “I didn’t bloody kill her!”

  Mr. Jarvis glanced at Robert. “I’d lay odds on who the liar is here, sir.”

  “I didn’t kill her!” Bert shouted, the sound echoing off the low stone ceiling. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you are a violent jealous man?” Robert asked. “The kind of scoundrel who would rather beat a woman who chooses not to care for him than find someone else?”

  He straightened up and met Bert’s furious gaze. “You’ll stay here until I can speak to Henry Haines.”

  “You can’t do that!” Bert growled.

  “I damn well can.” Robert stepped closer. “As I’ve already told you, I’m the local magistrate, and it’s my job to investigate local crime and prosecute offenders.”

  He nodded to Mr. Jarvis. “Let’s leave him to think about his choices, shall we? Perhaps a period of quiet reflection will make him more forthcoming.”

  As Robert and Mr. Jarvis left, Bert spun away to repeatedly smash his fist against the wall.

  “I don’t care what he says, Sir Robert. It’s as clear as day that he’s guilty,” Mr. Jarvis observed as they mounted the stairs back to the bar.

  “That remains to be seen, but he didn’t do himself any favors behaving like that, did he?” Robert agreed. “No wonder Polly was afraid of him.”

  “Well, as to that, sir . . .” Mr. Jarvis paused to shut and lock the cellar door behind them. “I did see her talking to him once or twice without there being any trouble. Which was why when Mrs. Jarvis told me that he’d been following her home, I wondered what was going on.”

  “I didn’t realize that,” Robert said. “I received the distinct impression from Polly that she was afraid to go near him.”

  “Maybe they were in the middle of a lover’s tiff, and Bert lost his temper with her when she didn’t want to make up?”

  “What time does the mail coach usually arrive?” Robert asked.

  “Around eight in the morning, Sir Robert.” Mr. Jarvis poured two pints of ale and handed one to Robert. “Do you want to speak to Henry yourself?”

  “I think I’d better,” Robert said. He took a grateful sip of his beer and then another, more appreciative swallow. “I think I’ll sit here, finish my ale, and wait for Lady Kurland to find me.”

  * * *

  Mrs. Jarvis cast a disgusted look around the small cramped room and wrinkled her nose.

  “It smells like a fox’s den in here and looks like one as well. I’m right sorry a
bout that, Lady Kurland.”

  Lucy remained in the doorway as Mrs. Jarvis stomped through the mess, picking up garments and throwing them randomly onto the two beds.

  “Which side belongs to Bert Speers?” Lucy asked.

  “This side. The one that looks like he emptied out his entire possessions on the floor before he left us in the lurch for three days.”

  “Maybe he did empty everything out,” Lucy said slowly. “Perhaps he wanted to make sure that there was nothing here to incriminate him if he didn’t return.”

  “Which begs the question of why he came back,” Mrs. Jarvis said.

  Lucy slowly raised her head from her contemplation of the mess. “I suppose we’d better look through everything and see if we can find that out.”

  Breathing carefully through her mouth, Lucy delved into the pile of clothing and checked pockets and straightened garments until there was a neat pile on the bed. She picked up one of the discarded boots and gingerly turned it upside down. A small leather purse fell out, and she picked it up.

  “That doesn’t look like a man’s purse, does it, my lady?” Mrs. Jarvis commented.

  “No, it doesn’t.” Lucy released the leather string and counted the coins that fell into her palm. “I wonder where he found this?’

  “And why he hid it in his boot.” Mrs. Jarvis held out a folded letter to Lucy. “This was folded up, real small-like, in his waistcoat pocket.”

  Lucy read the letter and frowned. “I can’t make much sense of it.”

  “Give it here.” Mrs. Jarvis whisked it out of her hand. “Looks like lots of numbers to me. Maybe bets he intended to place? He did like to gamble, that one.”

  Lucy reclaimed the grimy piece of paper, put it aside with the purse, and contemplated the pile of clothing. What had brought Bert Speers back to Kurland St. Mary? She would take the things they had found back to Robert and see if he had gained any information from Bert that might help uncover his reasoning.